


A Lover On The Left -

by alexanger



Series: Casual Affair [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton pisses Jefferson off so much that he needs to seek release somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lover On The Left -

**From** : tjefferson@usa.gov   
**To** : aburr@usa.gov   
**Subj** : Get your ass in my office   


**Message** :

  
\- TJ   
_ The ladder of success is best climbed by stepping on the rungs of opportunity. - Ayn Rand _  
  


Burr groans, allowing himself to sink down until his forehead touches the surface of the desk. He indulges in a moment of deep breathing before he straightens up, types “Be right there,” and hits send.

He knows the virtue of waiting. He sits until he is perfectly composed and not a hint of frustration shows on his face.  _ Mindfulness, _ he reminds himself.  _ You are a stone flake on a lake. Release the negativity. It flows to the bottom of the lake. _

There must be an awful lot of negativity in the silt down at the bottom, he thinks.

There’s only one thing that would necessitate a message so abrupt, so Burr prepares himself on the way to Jefferson’s office. He adjusts his jacket, loosens his tie a little, dusts his pants off. He surreptitiously checks his teeth in a mirror as he passes the office coffee nook.

If he wasn’t sure before, Burr becomes certain that he has been summoned for the usual meeting when he notices that Jefferson’s assistant is not at her desk. That’s fine. He knocks on the door to Jefferson’s office himself; he knows that, when Sally is away from her desk, it’s because Jefferson is granting him some last small measure of dignity.

The nature of their meetings is never discussed in their correspondence. Email accounts are easy to break into, and anyway, all the things they do on their office computers are logged and monitored. There’s no sense in giving anything away. It might not be illegal - probably isn’t, and Burr should actually look this up, he was a lawyer, for God’s sakes, this is stuff he should know - but it’s definitely  _ unsavory _ and it would hurt Jefferson’s presidential chances in the eyes of his adoring fanbase. Supporters, Burr catches himself. In the eyes of his supporters.

Jefferson lets him stew for a moment before calling, “come in.” The sound is muffled. Burr knows from past experience that the room is all but soundproof; he can’t imagine how loud Jefferson must be shouting, all in order to avoid getting up and actually opening the door for a subordinate.

He almost wants to wait, to make Jefferson shout again, but he gives in and pushes the door open.

Thomas must have been planning, because he’s sprawled too casually in his chair with his legs up on his desk. His purple suit is perfectly arranged, his jacket adjusted neatly over his legs, and his tie is even pulled taut and settled dead centre under his waistcoat, which is how Burr knows he took his sweet time tweaking his appearance to make a grand effect.

But knowing this doesn’t actually change the fact that he looks amazing.

“You wanted to see me, Mr Secretary?” Burr asks, and his tongue is heavy and swollen in his mouth, already savouring what lies ahead.

“Ah, Burr. Yes. I called you here so we can speak about Hamilton.”

“The usual kind of ‘speak about Hamilton,’ or an actually professional kind of ‘speak about Hamilton?’ ” Burr quips.

Jefferson looks unimpressed. Ah. So the usual kind of ‘speak about Hamilton.’

Neato burrito.

Burr takes his time picking one of the cushions off of the chaise longue in the corner of Jefferson’s office, dropping it near Jefferson’s chair, drawing down the blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows that comprise one wall. His methodical journey is accompanied by a symphony of complaint pouring forth from Jefferson’s mouth.

“So the arrogant bastard writes me this whole long letter, and - get this - he doesn’t email it, like a human being, he fucking  _ mails  _ it. He  _ mails _ it, Burr! To this office! With stamps!”

“That is generally how one mails things,” Burr agrees. Thomas plants his feet on the floor, legs spread, and Burr puts the cushion between his feet and kneels.

“Sally opens it, because she pre-screens all my mail, the dear, and she practically pulls out a fucking phone book. Like, this letter is a good twenty pages. That’s just fucking absurd. And instead of actually doing the work I need her to do, now she has to waste her time reading this thing, and I swear to God I’m glad she did because if I’d read that without any warning I would have completely lost my cool.”

“You’re doing a remarkable job holding it together, sir,” Burr says. His fingers are occupied undoing Jefferson’s belt, then his button, then his fly, and Jefferson’s cock pokes out, half-hard in the purple boxers that somehow inexplicably match the exact colour of the suit.

“And the whole fucking thing, when I read it, is Hamilton telling me off for being negligent! Negligent about what? I don’t agree with his opinions on foreign policy and I’m negligent? Like, if he’s so good at politics, he should - aaaaah, shit - have taken the Secretary of State position.  _ Fuck. _ ”

Burr has slipped Jefferson’s cock out of his boxers and taken it into his mouth. His tongue circles the swollen head, flicks against his frenulum, traces up to his slit and lingers just for a moment. He gives the tip of Jefferson’s cock a good firm suck before dropping it sloppily to say, “I agree wholeheartedly, sir.”

“It’s obvious at this point that the bastard just doesn’t  _ like _ me. Doesn’t matter what I do. I could turn up to the next cabinet meeting and regurgitate all his ideas at him and the next day he’d write me another novel telling me that everything I said was wrong and, and, what did he call it last time? Fundamentally lacking in moral fibre. Fuck him. Fuck - Burr, shit.”

“You’re going to have to wait to fuck him, sir,” Burr allows himself to say, before returning his mouth to Jefferson’s shaft. He sucks up along the underside. Jefferson is  _ massive _ and Burr savours the ache in his jaw as he fucks as much of Jefferson’s shaft as he can manage with his mouth. When the ache becomes unbearable, he pulls off Jefferson’s cock with an audible popping sound and finishes, “you’re busy fucking my mouth.”

“Yes,” Jefferson agrees absently, wrapping one long-fingered hand around the back of Burr’s neck. He doesn’t pull; Jefferson is not rough with him. Jefferson treats Burr like a trophy. Like a gift. Like a -

“Princess,” Jefferson breathes, “don’t get distracted. Suck me.”

Burr, humming with pleasure, obliges gladly. One hand wraps around Jefferson’s cock at the base, holding it steady so Burr can give it the attention it deserves.

“So,” Jefferson says raggedly. Back to this, apparently. “I finish the letter and I email him, like a rational human being, and I tell him exactly what I think of him.”

Burr would like to see that email. He hums to signal his attentiveness and Jefferson’s cock, so deep in his mouth it’s practically in his throat, twitches at the vibration.

“I write him telling him that if he has anything of  _ value _ to say, he’s welcome to approach me like an adult. But otherwise he needs to stay in his fucking lane and let me handle what I am employed to do.” Jefferson is close; Burr can tell by the way his breath is hitching and his thighs tense up. He figures he can speed it up a bit. He adjusts his angle and pushes his mouth down on Jefferson’s cock until it’s buried in his throat.

Thomas groans loudly and jerks his hips. Burr presses him back into his chair, wary of letting Jefferson thrust; he’s no stranger to the disasters that can come from reckless throat-fucking. “Mm-mm,” he scolds, although he knows it’s terribly rude to talk with his mouth full.

Jefferson strokes one hand along the top of Burr’s buzzed head by way of acknowledgement and apology. “And he emails me back,” he pants, holding his hips as still as he can. Burr can feel him drawing almost unbearably close to the edge. “And he says,  _ fuck _ , Burr! He writes back one fucking sentence, I don’t know why he couldn’t do that in the first place. Shiiiit, Princess, yes - he writes back, and this is the entire email, ‘too long, didn’t read.’ “

Burr swallows a laugh just in time. He makes what he hopes is a sympathetic groaning noise.

“That fucking asshole, Burr. I can’t - fucking - believe -  _ Hamilton _ !”

With that, Jefferson comes. Burr swallows eagerly, savouring the bitterness, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he sucks down Jefferson’s come greedily. These moments are far too rare, he thinks; he loves the way Jefferson tenses when he comes, and then relaxes all at once, becoming a purple puddle of affection.

Burr only stops sucking when he’s sure Jefferson is spent. He tenderly tucks Jefferson’s soft cock back into his boxers and zips him up.

“Feeling better, sir?” Burr asks, perching on one of Jefferson’s knees. He pulls himself out and fists his cock rapidly as he kisses Thomas on the lips.

“Mmmmmm,” Jefferson moans in agreement. His eyes are half-closed, his body puppy-soft and warm with contentment. Burr slips his tongue between Jefferson’s lips; as Thomas tastes himself, he takes Burr’s cock in hand and jacks him sharply.

It doesn’t take long before Burr is gasping and spilling onto Jefferson’s hand. Thomas wipes Burr’s load off onto a tissue and the two collapse together for a moment.

Jefferson stirs first. Firmly, but kindly, he helps Burr sit up, and the both of them adjust their suits. And if there’s a hint of dampness on the cuff of Jefferson’s shirt where Burr’s load shot a little further than expected - well, who will look close enough to notice?

“I said, uh, the wrong name again,” Jefferson begins.

Burr cuts him off. “Yes, I know.”

“I won’t do that next time,” Jefferson continues. Burr kisses him again, tenderly, smiling a little.

“Yes, you will,” Burr says warmly, without a trace of malice in his voice. “But that’s alright.”

He gathers himself to leave, but pauses at the door. Sally is surely back at her desk by now, and though Burr won’t be saying anything untoward, he wants this moment to just be for them, just for a second longer.

“Sir?” Burr says. “Good meeting.”

He leaves and closes the door behind him.


End file.
